Unbalanced
by 10111993
Summary: A reunion fic between the 10th Doctor and Rose, with a twist. Focus on Martha. Humor in it of course, because I just couldn't write the Doctor without it.
1. Chapter 1

Martha Jones let out a screech as she was sent flying through time and relative dimension in space. Quite literally, too, as the TARDIS slammed to an abrupt stop, saving neither of its favored passengers from tumbling around its insides like marbles. The Doctor laughed maniacally and reached out a hand towards the black skin, blue nails, and maroon leather that was Martha sailing past. Unfortunately, his 10th regeneration had slightly shorter arms than his 9th, and was unable to save his companion from a frontal collision with the door. Then everything was still, as if time had been frozen for a moment. At length, he pulled himself up from his tangled position with the consul and laughed, face lighting up in a mega-watt grin. "That was brilliant!"

"Brilliant my bloody ass," Martha muttered from where she was sitting, holding a hand over a bloody nose. The Doctor looked over at her in concern, bending upside down and removing her hand to take a better look. "Ah, yes well. Bit of a bump there then," he said, "but you'll be fine. Here, take a Kleenex." Martha could only watch in amusement as he reached into his pocket, until his arm disappeared up to his elbow. Her eyes bulging, she scrambled to her knees in an attempt to get closer. "Hold on - Is that bigger on the inside too?" Martha realized. The Doctor watched the dark beauty in a familiar bemusement as she looked at him, agog. "Here you go then," he said, presenting the MegaBox of Kleenex to his companion with a flourish. Martha stared at it dubiously for a moment, then carefully drew one out of the box with pinched forefingers. The Doctor thought he heard her mutter something about inter-dimensional voodoo, but decided not to correct her. After all, inter-dimensional physics involved parallel replications between…nothing that a human could understand, anyway.

Martha got over most of her suspicion quickly and hastily fisted a bunch of kleenex of the Doctor's steady hand, noticing his spaced expression which indicated some indecipherable train of thought; she decided that this was just another one of the Doctor's tricks she was going to have to get used to. She wasn't about to drip blood everywhere, after all. But pockets that were bigger on the inside? _Man, _Martha thought, _I've seen some crazy things but this is just a whole 'nother damn level of crazy."_

"Right then, what do you say about going out to take a little look, hmm?" Martha took the proffered hand, hers warm against the smooth coolness that reminded her that he was an alien, and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet. Standing up, she was a considerable five foot eight, the same, if not a little taller, than the Doctor. Tugging at the bottom of her leather coat with a slight frown, she looked up and couldn't help but reciprocate the infectious grin he had on his face. No matter what, he still had that silly little grin on his face, eager to go out and see new things. And there were an infinite amount of new things, Martha had realized, which was really a bit daunting in thought but utterly fantastic in truth. Martha Jones almost never lied. _Mostly, _she reassured herself. There was a slight guilt, but she shrugged it off. _Come off it, _she told her other half, _everybody tells a few lies every once and a while. _

It was true, _everybody_ told a few lies. And Martha thought, besides maybe herself, that the Doctor was telling the biggest one of all.

Scowling determinedly and ignoring the Doctor's look of curiosity, she marched forwards the doors of the Tardis and braced her hands on them.

_Here we go then._ Taking a deep breath, Martha Jones thrust the doors open…

And screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh look, an Ook!"

Martha squeaked and scuttled behind the doctor as the floating eyeball (EYEBALL, Martha wanted to repeatedly point out) turned towards her curiously. "An ooh?"

"Yes, quite marvelous things actually," the Doctor said, reaching out to pat the hovering eye. Martha could only watch in entranced disgust. To her utter disbelief, it let out a purring sound.

"How the hells' it doing that?" Martha spluttered. "It's a… blimey, it's a floating like it's got a vocal cord or anything."

"Indeed, and yet they are capable of many marvelous things. This one seems rather small; most grow to an average of a foot in circumference. " The doctor frowned momentarily, head tilted sideways in that way of his. "Yes, yes, quite. What are you doing alone out here? Where're your parents, eh?"

_As if a six inch one isn't bad enough, _Martha thought grimly, gripping the cuffs of her leather coat.

The Doctor slipped on a pair of glasses, and turned back to his companion, grinning at her discomfort.

"Come on then, you give it a pat too. Might get offended otherwise, although this one seems like a nice little bugger."

"Bloody hell, I think I had childhood nightmares about this sort of thing," Martha grumbled, but grabbed his proffered hand nonetheless and allowed herself to be pulled forward by the delicate grip. The eyeball, or Ook, looked at her unblinkingly.

Right then. Better to just get this over with.

"Just a warning, you might get a little bit of a psychic shock, tends to happen with these things, not sure why, though it may have something to do with their gravitational…." Martha ignored him, letting his rambling fade away as she reached a cautious hand forward.

Being familiar with contacts, she had expected it to feel something like her own eye; however, she found it pleasantly smooth, and warm, almost like glass, and yet somehow soft at the same time. When she removed her hand, it was perfectly clean of whatever goop she had imagined would be present. The Ook let out another little purr, a little deeper this time. Martha wasn't quite sure how to categorize the sound, but she thought it sounded rather like a cat being petted, so she simply decided to call it a "purr."

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Martha couldn't help but return the infectious smile, overcome by his youthful, unbarred features and the fact that she had just touched, no, petted, a giant floating eyeball and it felt warm and squishy. The next moment a peal of laughter had escaped her throat and she threw her head back. The Doctor, understanding, chuckled too.

"That was….whew…." Martha wheezed, standing back up, only to find herself giggling helplessly once again and having to bend down to avoid peeing her pants as she fell back against the TARDIS's consul.

The sound of another giggle, muffled and more like a warbled hum, interrupted them, and both travelers looked up in astonishment.

"Brilliant!" the Doctor breathed, gazing reverently at the rather bashful orb, which now gazed slightly towards the floor. At least, she thought that's what it was. It was hard to tell without eyelids. And a mouth.

God, this was so ridiculous.

Everything around the Doctor was ridiculous.

The Doctor was ridiculous. But Martha somehow couldn't laugh at him as completely, because she also knew what he was like gravely serious, knew that he was devoted to everyone and everything except for himself.

After all, she was in love with him. The deep-rooted ache that had taken to seed that fateful evening long ago (she had no idea when 'long ago' was anymore) now quickly threaded its way through her chest again, pulling delicately, as she gazed at his profile. It was a bittersweet feeling, a sweetness only present by his company. Once he was gone, it was easy for the loneliness to overcome, despite the same when she was with him. The bitterness heated her stomach, coiling as unease. An image of Rose Tyler, from a photograph, seared through her memory, a sharp sketch black and white. You could tell she liked pink even though there was no color. You could tell that she liked chips and liked to laugh, that she was beautiful, even if her makeup wasn't done the best; It didn't matter, not with the way he looked at her. She would always be beautiful to him. It was so easy to just hate Rose Tyler. And yet Martha had the horrible feeling she would like her. There was also the niggling voice in the back of her mind that reminded her that she was more suited for the Doctor than Martha would ever be, regardless of Rose's existence in the Doctor's life.

The acid was rising.

They were so close, _so _close. So close that there was a dynamic change in the Doctor. He would get up now, and Martha could only watch, with a sinking heart and a rising stomach, smiles and expressions she knew weren't for her graced his face.

It was so goddamned beautiful that it hurt.

It was so _goddamned_ depressing that it hurt. _Goddamnit_. Martha liked that word.

And just once, she wished he'd look at her like that.

And just once, she had wished that Tom would look at her like that too.

But that ship had long sailed.

Even with a time machine, there was no going back to how things had been. Because you were a different person, and Martha knew that, and it had nothing to do with the timey-whimey rules of paradoxes the Doctor went on about.

Well. Mostly.

Martha lied to herself all the time, but she never believed herself.


	3. Chapter 3

The forest was quiet as they walked. For once, the doctor did not ramble, nor offer anything in the way of conversation. He merely strode down the road, hands shoved in pockets and an expression on his face that Martha didn't care to identify. Her hand curled reflexively, missing the comforting grasp of a cool hand. Lacking pockets herself, she merely let them hang loose by her sides, though the effort to fist them was both more and less of an effort. The ooh gurgled along beside her, bobbing up and down in some rhythm with gravity. Really, how in actual bloody hell did it move?

Directing her attentions to less involved areas of thought, she observed their surroundings closely. Some of the tall, leafy plants resembled versions of potted plants in the hospital, which was startling and somehow poignant. There were no flowers, but the cataclysmic explosion of color in the undergrowth more than made up for it. Red, oranges, purples, blues - Martha even saw a leaf that was the exact same shade as her jacket. Swallowing the urge to plunge through the undergrowth gleefully, she scolded herself sternly, keeping her defiantly willful imagination in check, the same imagination that had made her a good doctor but also gotten her in trouble more often than not. This time, their visit was personal. There was also a limited amount of time (wasn't it ironic, that with all the time in the universe, this time they could only be there once, on that precise day? Martha was becoming ever more aware of the cruelties of time, and she wondered at the Doctor sometimes, wondered just what he hid, carefully, from prying kindnesses)

They passed through what seemed a hall of trees, their trunks like columns ascending to disappear from mortal eyes. Martha had the intense feeling of smallness. They passed by spiraling plants with an explosion of fauna on top, sometimes rainbow colored, and the feeling of incredulity that Martha had been numbly experiencing that afternoon increased. Regular, tufting grass, only incandescent purple, sprawling moss beneath cavernous "greenery.," and cascading vines draping for miles were passed by. Truth be told, Martha's neck was starting to get sore. But how could she stop looking? The world fairly glowed, even without much direct sunlight, exploding around her in impossibilities.

Every now and then, the slightest wobble in her peripheral vision would alert her to some presence, though what was moving through the vast forest was impossible to tell. indefatigable as her curiosity was, her frustration was growing. The strangest thing was, she only saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. As soon as she turned to look, no matter how she sprained her neck moving, the jungle was as still as if nothing had passed by. Perhaps the jungle itself had shrugged, sending ripples through its growth. High above, beyond Martha's perception, the high, arching boughs were slowly weaving themselves together, sentient. Repressing another shiver, Martha turned back to the Doctor's back, who had inevitably kept his former pace while her concentration slowed her down. Despite the fact she was sure there was nothing of harm (after all, the Doctor would have warned her by now, even as distracted as he was), she grabbed her elbows and walked stiff legged, stomping for all she was worth. Generally, this was a giant _fuck the 'ell off_ signal, inspired out of ire (her mother), but uneasiness was growing in her stomach as the flickering in her vision increased. It was very disorienting, flashes at the side of her vision fuzzing the much clearer view in front of her.

A headache was building, and for some reason Martha couldn't make a noise. Stumbling in her neon orange stilettos, Martha attempted to articulate something, gesturing desperately towards the Doctor, but all she could see now was a fuzzy brown, moving briskly forward. _Must….go….stop…Doc..Rose-ne_. The drums overcame her.

The ooh squeaked in alarmed surprise as the woman pitched forward, and whizzed quickly through the air, an impassive expression on it's wide eyed gaze and yet perceivably concerned regardless, coming to catch Martha's weight just as she reached a forty five degree angle. Unconscious, she dangled on her stomach over an overgrown eyeball, arms dangling like a puppet's. To the ook's consternment, and Martha's if she had been awake, the Doctor strode on obliviously. For all intensive purposes, the Doctor had been out the moment he had set foot outside the TARDIS. At that time, no one, least of all the Doctor, had an inkling of what was to come.


	4. Chapter 4

The forest was quiet as they walked. For once, the doctor did not ramble, nor offer anything in the way of conversation. He merely strode down the road, hands shoved in pockets and an expression on his face that Martha didn't care to identify. Her hand curled reflexively, missing the comforting grasp of a cool hand. Lacking pockets herself, she merely let them hang loose by her sides, though the effort to fist them was both more and less of an effort. The ooh gurgled along beside her, bobbing up and down in some rhythm with gravity. Really, how in actual bloody hell did it move?

Directing her attentions to less involved areas of thought, she observed their surroundings closely. Some of the tall, leafy plants resembled versions of potted plants in the hospital, which was startling and somehow poignant. There were no flowers, but the cataclysmic explosion of color in the undergrowth more than made up for it. Red, oranges, purples, blues - Martha even saw a leaf that was the exact same shade as her jacket. Swallowing the urge to plunge through the undergrowth gleefully, she scolded herself sternly, keeping her defiantly willful imagination in check, the same imagination that had made her a good doctor but also gotten her in trouble more often than not. This time, their visit was personal. There was also a limited amount of time (wasn't it ironic, that with all the time in the universe, this time they could only be there once, on that precise day? Martha was becoming ever more aware of the cruelties of time, and she wondered at the Doctor sometimes, wondered just what he hid, carefully, from prying kindnesses)

They passed through what seemed a hall of trees, their trunks like columns ascending to disappear from mortal eyes. Martha had the intense feeling of smallness. They passed by spiraling plants with an explosion of fauna on top, sometimes rainbow colored, and the feeling of incredulity that Martha had been numbly experiencing that afternoon increased. Regular, tufting grass, only incandescent purple, sprawling moss beneath cavernous "greenery.," and cascading vines draping for miles were passed by. Truth be told, Martha's neck was starting to get sore. But how could she stop looking? The world fairly glowed, even without much direct sunlight, exploding around her in impossibilities.

Every now and then, the slightest wobble in her peripheral vision would alert her to some presence, though what was moving through the vast forest was impossible to tell. indefatigable as her curiosity was, her frustration was growing. The strangest thing was, she only saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. As soon as she turned to look, no matter how she sprained her neck moving, the jungle was as still as if nothing had passed by. Perhaps the jungle itself had shrugged, sending ripples through its growth. High above, beyond Martha's perception, the high, arching boughs were slowly weaving themselves together, sentient. Repressing another shiver, Martha turned back to the Doctor's back, who had inevitably kept his former pace while her concentration slowed her down. Despite the fact she was sure there was nothing of harm (after all, the Doctor would have warned her by now, even as distracted as he was), she grabbed her elbows and walked stiff legged, stomping for all she was worth. Generally, this was a giant _fuck the 'ell off_ signal, inspired out of ire (the source being her mother), but uneasiness was growing in her stomach as the flickering in her vision increased. It was very disorienting, flashes at the side of her vision fuzzing the much clearer view in front of her.

A headache was building, and for some reason Martha couldn't make a noise. Stumbling in her neon orange stilettos, Martha attempted to articulate something, gesturing desperately towards the Doctor, but all she could see now was a fuzzy brown, moving briskly forward. _Must….go….stop…Doc..Rose-ne_. The drums overcame her.

The ooh squeaked in alarmed surprise as the woman pitched forward, and whizzed quickly through the air, an impassive expression on it's wide eyed gaze and yet perceivably concerned regardless, coming to catch Martha's weight just as she reached a forty five degree angle. Unconscious, she dangled on her stomach over an overgrown eyeball, arms dangling like a puppet's. To the ook's consternment, and Martha's if she had been awake, the Doctor strode on obliviously. For all intensive purposes, the Doctor had been out the moment he had set foot outside the TARDIS. At that time, no one, least of all the Doctor, had an inkling of what was to come.

When Martha awoke, the Doctor was facing away from her, mumbling intensely to himself. To his credit, it sounded as though he were trying to figure out what had happened to her. Martha didn't quite remember herself, but, to her muddled relief, the drumming and flashing movements in her vision seemed to have gone.

A slight cough, and the Doctor spun around in a flash, kneeling down on one knee. "Martha? Feel anything funny, slightly out of place, floating sensation here or there?" Funnily enough, Martha DID have the slightest sensation of floating. She looked back at the Doctor's face with furrowed brows of her own. "Yeah… how did you know? What's going on, Doc?" For a moment, he didn't answer her, his gaze oriented towards her but he looked, perhaps even literally (because Martha had no idea), galaxies away. After a moment, he shook his head again, muttering again to himself. "It's impossible, utterly impossible…no, it couldn't…." Martha was confused, but sure he was not talking to her, decided to try and sit up. Reflexively, his arm shot out sideways, grabbing her as she wavered against gravity. Casting him a wary glance sideways, Martha crawled to her feet in an undignified manner, huffing against the oddly settled ache in her bones. On her feet, she suddenly realized that a slight dampness covered the front of her jacket, lending it an intensely vibrant, refractive shine. She wobbled her way over to the Ook, who appeared to be scanning their environment, hovering in place as it slowly rotated. It took a good few seconds to realize that it was suddenly staring at her. Suppressing a yelp and a flinch of surprise, Martha approached it with a warm smile. She came to a halt a few feet away. "Thanks." The gratitude was expressed without any humor, standing and looking into it's iris, slightly hypnotized by the vast prisms of color surrounding its pupil. She meant what she had said; somehow, she knew the Ook had something to do with her recovery. If the strange goo on her jacket meant anything at all, then it at least told her that the Ook had saved her from a painful fall.

The Ook, in response, merely gurgled and hummed and bumped her hand. Martha squinted her eyes and was trying to see if it was vibrating when the Doctor came over, watching their exchange curiously. "Fascinating - I think it's taken a liking to you," he said cheerfully. For a moment, his ridiculously silly smile faded, and he looked at her seriously. "You okay?" Martha cocked a half smile and nodded. He knew. She had also already done a self evaluation of herself, as soon as she had woken up. Physically, fine enough. There was nothing she could determine as wrong, exactly, but there was a strange lightweightness to her body that granted her an out of body sensation. Kinda cool, actually. Martha found she was rather fascinated by it.

"Right as a rock," she said, and the Doctor grinned again, no sign of his previous alarm. He stuck out a hand, and Martha couldn't help but take it. Blithering idiot, that's what he was. And yet… she couldn't help but smile. For the first time since their arrival on this strange planet, he had plunged into one of his never-ending dialogues, discussing the anatomy of a giant sand-worm he had encountered on a planet called Tatooine. She wasn't paying much attention, but was allowing the words to wash over her like waves, letting the coolness of his hand guide the feeling over her. At peace, happily oblivious, and relaxing for the first time since their journey had started, the pair continued down the path, a slight undercurrent of tension keeping Martha from floating away from her pin-striped companion.

They didn't so much leave the forest as come across a clearing, a vast, circular break in the trees that allowed sunshine to cascade onto leaves and roofs. A cluster of five lean-to's sat in the middle, all supported on rickety stilts that lifted their foundations some seven or eight feet into the air. Hammered together with bark, hide, and grass woven roofs, they appeared on the edge of falling. They proved sturdier than they looked; even as Martha and the Doctor stepped out into the dirt clearing, shadows began to emerge from their respective habitations, gathering in substantial numbers by their railings. Even as the Doctor gestured some greeting (of _course_ he would know it), Martha squinted and tried to reason how the houses were held up. More importantly, _why_ were they raised? Was there perhaps some nightmarish creature that ventured out under the cover of darkness? Was that why they hadn't seen any animal life yet?

"Doctor," Martha whispered, tugging on his elbow. The Doctor gave her a quick wink before continuing his signing. Martha knew that it wasn't any sign language _she _was familiar with. Gazing up at the rather attractive sideburns of her older companion (much too old for her, indecently old, as her mother would say), Martha's thoughts, or rather eyes, wandered to his lips, which more frequently than not were quirked up in brilliant, unrestrained grins that would always be accompanied by some silly jumping or halloaing about, much of which she participated in herself. At the moment, however, she was imagining how they would feel…..

"Come on, now, Martha, we haven't a moment to waste! The Arooglans are very friendly, but they spend much of their time sleeping, like you. I'm afraid we have even less time than we imagined - nothing can wake them once their out - ouch, that was my toe! What'd you do that for? Martha?" Incredulous, the ruffled man (his hair adorably so) looked after his companion in indignation, his voice rising into a squeak on the last syllable. His urgent speaking, the rapid utterance of which made his words almost intelligible, had resulted in a cocked eyebrow and a suitably offended sniff as Martha had turned her back on him and marched towards the village. Trench coat flaring behind him, the man stuck his hands in his pockets and marched after her, muttering about unjust violence.

What a strange conglomeration it was - the inhabitants themselves were humanoid, but their skin sported an array of different patterns and colors, none of which looked to be painted on. As far as Martha could tell, they were all natural. Transposed against their colorful surroundings, she was almost blinded by the rainbow which was presented to her. "Blimey, a bit shiny aren't they?" The Doctor had come up beside her, and was squinting a little himself.

"Eh- ah, 'ello then," he said. "My name's the Doctor, and this here is Martha Jones. We're here because - well, bloody hell, how do I say this -" "Because we need help," Martha finished for him, casting him an amused glance. The Doctor shuffled uncomfortably, and opened his mouth to speak again, but was, also again, cut off by Martha.

"We need your help." She was firm, standing tall as she directed her gaze around. Undeterred by their silence, she continued. "We need alorium. We need your help; there is no other place we can go. Please." The last word was softly begged. She only hoped that the conviction in her eyes would Seconds stretched into silence, wherein not even the Doctor interrupted, until one broad faced Arooglan stepped forwards. His body, covered simply by what seemed to be a fur kilt and a light brown cloth of some sort, gleamed under the fading sun, biceps rippling with black leopard dots on daffodil skin. His calves, however, were a deep midnight, covered in spiraling black patterns that faded into plain purple and pink skin at his toes. His eyes were wide-set and slanting, lending a stretched appearance to his already square face. Slowly, he raised the staff he was holding up in puce hands, and then let it fall with a thump. When he spoke, his voice sounded of thunder and deep canyons, halting and rumbling.

"Greetings…friends…we…the…Aloogan….welcome…you." He paused, as if the short speech had cost great effort. Martha looked curiously at the Doctor.

"We…have…not…seen….your….kind…in….a…great…..while… Doctor." The Aloogan noted, curious. For a second, a look flashed across the Doctor's face that Martha instinctively recognized. Deep grief was hard to miss, even as quick as it flitted across his face. She knew, of course, even though he had never told her. His grief was much deeper than anybody else's. A singular timeline could cleave it, death and disease each granting merciful relief by their unprejudiced hands, but a Time Lord's…well, a Time Lord's grief was timeless. There was no limit to tragedy in non-linear space, nor its aftereffects. For the second time, Martha found herself remembering the picture on the console, and felt a deep seated guilt as she fought her resentment.

"They are gone." The stiff answer provoked a slow, sonorous blink from the gathered Aloogan's.

The square-faced leader inclined his head in respect, then raised his head again. "You…have…our…aid," he simply said, then stepped back. Immediately, a set of stairs revealed itself as a sheet of maroon ivy was hauled off by methodical hands.

In the midst of this activity, Martha stood for a moment, contemplating. They were within fiscal reach of their goal now. She glanced over, an action which had become as instinctive as breathing, and watched the myriad of colors reflecting off the Doctor's carefully blank face. Pinks, purples, and oranges pulsed gently over his face as the sun started its descent. Truly, they did not have much time. Taking a deep breath, Martha climbed the first step.


End file.
